


Lonely Together

by mannybothans



Series: Shameless Smut Shorts [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, Dean is an Idiot, Did I mention angst, F/M, Fake Orgasm, Head vs Heart, One Shot, PWP, Penis In Vagina Sex, Porn Without Plot, Reader Insert, Smut, Third Person POV, Unnamed Reader, because it's literally just all angst, by avicii, hardcore feelings, inspired by lonely together, lyrics-inspired fic, secret feelings, slight dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-07 00:31:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18399473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mannybothans/pseuds/mannybothans
Summary: Dean is so very Dean and she's finally come to terms with it.





	Lonely Together

He stood in her doorway, all silhouette and long, gray shadows.

“Dean?” She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, not bothering to reach for her glasses to see him better. It was dark – there was no seeing anything better and he was the only one who came to her room this late.

“Can I come in?” He asked quietly. He sounded like he might have been crying. She nodded with the understanding that he was vulnerable and hurting. That was the only time he ever came to her – and she’d accepted it, despite how painful it was. Truthfully, she just wanted him to remember her in some capacity other than Fellow Bunker Resident/Nerd Scholar if and when her time came.

Dean shuffled into her room and shut the door behind him. With the latch clicking into place, her heart thudded hollowly and she swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. She smelled the whiskey as he sat on the edge of her bed. In silence, he removed his belt and shirt, just like he always did, and she sat back against her pillows and waited.

Maybe this time, he’d just curl into her, rest his head on her chest, and drift to sleep as she carded her fingers through his hair. Maybe this time, he’d just leave tear tracks on her tank top that would dry and that would be the only – momentary – evidence he’d even been with her. Maybe this time, he’d kiss her and mean it as something more than to just get her to open her legs. Maybe this time he’d realize she’d always been there for him and just _love_ her.

But she knew better – this always ended the same way. Tonight wouldn’t be any different. She’d hate herself in the morning, hate how she felt about him, hate that she couldn’t make him change or make herself change, hate how lonely she was. But he was lonely, too. And at least they’d be lonely together.

He moved, feeling for her, as he slipped under her covers and into the warmth of her bed. She sat still, waiting for him to find his way to her – just like every other time.

“Where are you?” He asked, realizing she was sitting up at the same time the question left his lips. “C’mere,” he murmured, his hands grasping her hips and gently tugging. She slid down on the bed, her head resting on her pillows.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” She tried. Maybe if he opened up this time, maybe he wouldn’t see her as just a warm body to use.

Silence met her from the other side of the bed until he rolled onto his side and placed a large, warm hand on her lower belly. She wasn’t wearing shorts, just undies tonight. “Do I ever?”

“No,” she said, swallowing the overwhelming urge to cry and pull away from him. Then his pinky slid under the waistband of her panties and she closed her eyes against the darkness of her room, pretending he was doing this because he loved her and not because he just wanted to lose himself inside of her.

“Well, then,” he said and she could hear the humorless grin on his lips. His finger slid lower, pushing the elastic edge as it slid between her folds.

Even as her brain screamed at her to get up, to go, to be lonely _alone_ instead of _with him_ , she felt her body respond to his touch. Every time. Her hands may as well have been tied with how little control she felt like she had to resist him.

Then his lips were on her jaw, her chin, and her lips. She didn’t react, not at first, not like she’d done before – so willingly and wantonly. No, this time she let him kiss her a few times before she opened up to him, still unable to convince herself she didn’t want him like this. Especially when his tongue twirled around hers and it felt like home. He shifted once more, putting a thigh between her legs as he held himself over her. She willed her heart to stop pounding deafeningly in her own ears when she felt his warmth above her. His mouth left hers and she took a shuddering breath, almost ready to tell him to stop, to leave, to not come back, that she wasn’t his to use like this. But all that came out was a shaky sigh of his name. Because no matter how hard she fought herself, she was his. Would always be his.

She briefly wondered if Sam knew how weak she really was when it came to saving Dean from himself. She couldn’t even save herself from him.

He moved again, lowered himself, and his mouth closed over one of her nipples, gently tugging it through the material of her tank top. She arched up into it and her hands gripped his hair at the crown of his head. “Fuck,” she breathed, forgetting her own personal struggle in favor of the pleasure he was going to give her.

It was the least she could take from him, even though it was the only thing he ever gave her.

Dean moved to her other breast and bit her a little bit harder, encouraged by her breathy sounds and back arching. “So good for me,” he whispered against her chest, his breath hot and humid through the cotton. He continued moving down, pushing the fabric up over her stomach so his tongue could taste her. “Gonna make you come,” he added, just in case she’d somehow forgotten what his intentions were when he made these late-night trips to her room.

His teeth scraped at her bare skin until they caught on her panties and began to tug them off. His strong fingers curled around the sides and she lifted her hips for him in a well-practiced move. Dean never really took his time with what came next – namely, her. He enjoyed eating her out; hearing her small whimpers and breathy moans only convinced him he was actually good at something other than fucking up everything.

She gasped when his tongue swiped through her folds and he closed his eyes, focusing just on her sounds and how her hips twitched and breath hitched. Dean didn’t think he’d ever quite tire of hearing the sounds that came from her. He wished he could bring himself to visit her more often, to build something real between them, but it would be much too hard when she would inevitably get ripped away from him. So, he focused on giving her pleasure and the fact she let him into her bed so readily.

He wondered if she knew how much she grounded him and made him feel human. He wondered if Sam knew that he was using her to ground himself.

 “Dean,” she whined quietly, her hips rocking against his face. He shut off his thoughts, desperate to hear her cry out for him. “So close, don’t stop,” she added, her voice filled with need.

His cock throbbed under his denim and he groaned into her cunt, doubling his efforts. His tongue lashed at her clit as he slid a thick index finger into her wet heat. His saliva mixed with her slick and trickled down, dampening the sheet under her. When her fingers dug into his hair, he knew she was about to fall off the edge and Dean curled his finger inside her while tonguing her clit. It seemed to do the trick better than any of his other moves; sure enough, he felt her start to tremble in her hips and then her legs were shaking and she was choking back moans as her orgasm tore through her.

Lazily, he flicked his tongue a couple more times against her and she shoved his face away, panting and writhing on the bed.

And with one orgasm, her brain stopped fighting and screaming at her to just _go_ – now, it just begged him to make her _come_.

Dean wiped his mouth on the inside of her thigh before he slid back up and pushed his crotch against hers. She moaned quietly at the feeling of his hardened length behind the denim barrier and he felt his cock twitch. He stilled, trying to make out her face in the darkness of the room, wondering how she looked as she came or as he pounded into her.

“Dean?” She asked, breaking him of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he replied quietly.

Silence filled the room around them as she tried to figure out what to say or ask him. “Everything good?”

“Yeah,” he said again, pushing aside the urge to turn on her lamp so he could see her properly. It was easier this way – she was just a willing body and there was no way he could look at her and fall in love. Fall _deeper_ in love. In the dark, he could deny his feelings and play pretend.

His hips rolled into hers and she sighed. “You just gonna tease me with that thing all night?”

Dean smirked into the dark – there she was. He sat back and undid his jeans, freeing his erection and kicking off the garment onto to the floor somewhere. “I can, if you’d prefer,” he replied, leaning down again until it pushed against her pussy ever so gently.

“Use it or lose it, Winchester,” she retorted huskily and Dean’s smirk widened into a grin.

_As you wish_ , he almost said before he bit his tongue. “Got it,” he said, instead, and pushed his length into her slowly and smoothly, letting her adjust to his size inch by inch. He lowered his head and brushed his lips against her cheek as he fully buried his cock into her. “Fuck,” he breathed, just like the first time and every time since.

“Please,” she sighed.

And he obliged, pulling back slow and then ramming into her over and over again.

She was doing so well, keeping it together better than she’d thought she’d be able to, and then he started fucking her the way he always did. The way she wanted him to – hard, fast, and unapologetic. It was _fucking_ , not making love. Tears stung the corners of her eyes and her throat shrank as a lump filled it once more. Her sobs were expertly woven into the small noises she made as he filled her and hit the spots she needed him to. More than anything, she wanted to scream and cry out, let these sobs wrack her body and fill the air but then Dean would know – and he’d stop – and she didn’t want him to stop. Even if this was the littlest piece he was willing to give her, she needed it and wanted it like nothing else.

So, her desperate, lonely cries tied themselves in knots around the quiet moans of pleasure and she prayed he couldn’t hear the sadness or feel the tears that streamed into her hair as he fucked her, murmuring praises and swears all in the same whiskey-laden breath. He may not remember her as anything other than a hunter, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to hold a piece of his heart or from wanting to fix him. To make him see what he was worth, what she was worth, what they did for each other and how they could stop being lonely together.

“You close?” He uttered on the tail end of a groan, bringing her out of her head and heart and back into her bedroom.

“Kinda.” She choked out the lie so easily.

“Wanna feel you come around me,” he grunted, pressing his forehead against hers. “God, you feel good.”

“Dean,” she breathed shakily, not trusting herself to say anything more. But he took it as the plea to help her get there and not the plea for him to open up to her for fucking once. He sat up and hooked one of her ankles over his shoulder as his thumb pressed into her clit and he resumed his steady pace. A noise of frustration left her lips before she could stop it and he interpreted it as wanting more; his thumb swiped her clit again and again with soft pressure and quick movements.

She covered her face and cried into her hands, glad he couldn’t see her. He wouldn’t ever see her cry like this – not if she could help it. Moments passed and she knew he was getting close because his hips slowed and he was panting, trying to hold back. She’d have to fake it if she wanted him to not get suspicious. Gradually, she tightened her pelvic floor muscles and heard him groan in approval.

“Yeah, that’s it sweetheart,” he encouraged, swiping his thumb faster. The amount of pleasure it was creating wasn’t going to be enough, not in the headspace she’d gotten herself into. So, she squeezed herself around his cock and arched her back, letting out a small cry as she faked her orgasm. Dean moved his thumb away and bent forward, taking a deep breath as he rammed into her several more times and then pulled out, coming on her stomach and hip with a shaky groan.

He held himself above her for a long moment to catch his breath and let his own climax subside. “Holy shit,” Dean finally panted. It was all he could bring himself to say through the whiskey haze and foggy thoughts and emotions that he constantly stamped down into a ball of bile that sat heavily in his gut. After another moment, he reached out towards her bedside table where he knew she kept a box of tissues and grabbed a few to wipe her off. In the dark, he couldn’t see and he felt clumsy and stupid; _should’ve worn a condom_ , he thought gruffly.

Why couldn’t he do anything right?

“It’s fine, I got it,” she said, her voice thick and unsteady. He swallowed and sat back, letting her finish cleaning up as she pulled her tank top off. Then she gently untangled herself from him and her bed, slipping out to wash up at the sink by the door.

He listened to her soft footsteps; lied back as she turned on the water; closed his eyes and scolded himself for being such a coward as she patted herself dry with the small towel she kept nearby. He knew her room almost as well as he knew his own and considering he rarely ever spent time in here with the lights on, that was really something. She padded back over and gently felt along her side of the bed to make sure she wasn’t going to kick him or climb on top of him or anything. He reached out a hand and pulled her into the bed with him and, surprisingly, she curled up into his side without a word.

Dean lay awake for awhile, staring up at the ceiling he couldn’t see, holding a woman he couldn’t love, and hating the man he’d always be.

When he woke up in the morning, she was already gone.

He didn’t even notice that her things were gone, too, as he dressed. It wasn’t until Sam said something that Dean raced back to her room, wide-eyed and disbelieving as he noticed everything was gone – save for the tissue box beside her bed. No note, no hint she’d ever even been there, aside from the sheets that smelled like her, like them. He sat heavily on the edge of her bed as a familiar emptiness crept into his bones. Dean knew loneliness. He knew it very well. But it’d been easier to shoulder when he’d been lonely with her. His shoulders sagged as he dropped his chin and took a deep breath, readjusting to the pain and hurt that permeated his entire soul when she wasn’t around.

Maybe if he’d said something last night, or last week, or last month. Maybe she’d have stayed. And maybe they wouldn’t have had to be lonely together.


End file.
